


Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

by GrumpyGhostOwl



Series: Battle of the Planets: 2163 [33]
Category: Battle of the Planets (Cartoon), Kagaku Ninja Tai Gatchaman & Related Fandoms
Genre: Family, Mild Language, Other, Sexual References, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 01:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13583430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyGhostOwl/pseuds/GrumpyGhostOwl
Summary: It’s Thanksgiving. Jason’s girlfriend’s parents want to meet him, and Grandma Sorcha springs a surprise visit. Keyop isn't sure where he fits in with all this new-found family stuff. After all, who can your real family be when you were created in a petri dish to spec for the G-Force programme?





	1. Fit the First

**Author's Note:**

> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS  
> Thanks to Kat and Shayron for beta reading and for their advice on how Thanksgiving works. Thank you to the crowd at Gatchamania.net for Thanksgiving stories and traditions.
> 
> NOTES  
> This story follows on from Castling. It references events recounted in Crusades and Headlong. This is one of those stories where it really helps to have read the ones that precede it in the series, otherwise quite a few things won’t make a lot of sense.
> 
> SUMMARY  
> It’s Thanksgiving. Jason’s girlfriend’s parents want to meet him, and Grandma Sorcha springs a surprise visit.
> 
> RATING  
> This story is rated PG-13.
> 
> WARNINGS  
> • Language  
> • Adult themes  
> • Sexual references  
> • 7-Zark-7

## FIT THE FIRST

_In which plans are re-made and questions go unanswered._

 

 

Keyop leaned back in his seat and contemplated the world, his field of vision divided by the golden tint of his visor. The Earth’s atmosphere was a luminous blue and white, edged with violet. As Tiny Harper eased the _Phoenix_ into her re-entry, the command ship trembled slightly and for a moment the blackness of space filled the main screen as the nose came up. Heat shields slid into place and obscured the vista.  
  
Keyop ran through his re-entry checks and stretched. All systems were in the green. He listened to Princess calling her system read-out figures to Tiny, who cross-checked and confirmed them.  
  
As Keyop glanced over at Princess, Mark looked over one shoulder at her, catching her eye, and she smiled back at him, a faint flush rising in her face.  
  
Keyop watched the interaction and grimaced. He heard a chuckle, turned and saw Jason smirking at him. Keyop poked his tongue out at Jason and turned back to his own console.  
  
The _Phoenix_ roared through the atmosphere, her underside glowing red hot with the pressure of re-entry. As the ship slowed, the hull temperature fell and Tiny lowered the nose to stabilise the ship in a glide. He exchanged a few words with their robot coordinator 7-Zark-7 and trimmed the G-Force command ship for descent.  
  
After splash-down off the coast, Tiny engaged submarine mode and the ship sank beneath the waves of the Pacific Ocean. It would be a short run to the underwater hangar at Seahorse Base on San Francisco Bay. With a long weekend looming, hopefully they wouldn’t have to return to Center Neptune until Monday.  
  
The water of the bay was clear and bright in the early afternoon sunlight. The _Phoenix_ glided toward the glowing yellow rectangle of her hangar doors, lining up for a dead straight approach. Tiny eased the ship in through the open doors and manoeuvred her into position for docking.  
  
There were two dull thuds. “Docking clamps engaged,” Princess reported as the ship settled onto her cradle.  
  
“Confirm clamps engaged,” Tiny responded. “Green across the board. Shutting down main engines.”  
  
Water cascaded off every surface as the lift carried the _Phoenix_ up into her docking and maintenance position.  
  
“Home,” Princess sighed.  
  
“Safe and sound!” Keyop added.  
  
“Nice work, everyone,” Mark said.  
  
“Now for the really scary part of our day!” Tiny predicted, with a wicked chuckle.  
  
“Debriefing?” Keyop queried innocently.  
  
“Nah!” Tiny grinned at Jason’s apparent discomfiture. “Thanksgiving dinner!”  
  
Keyop shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”  
  
“There isn’t one,” Jason snapped, glaring at Tiny, “so quit trying to make a mountain out of a molehill.”  
  
“I don’t know about that,” Tiny persisted. “I mean, your girlfriend’s parents coming over for Thanksgiving sounds like a big deal to me!”  
  
Jason was out of his chair and had the upper edges of Tiny’s cape in a death grip before anyone saw him move. “If you do anything – _anything at all_ – to embarrass me tonight, so help me, I’ll...”  
  
“Jason.” Princess had rushed to Jason’s side and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s all right. Nobody’s going to do anything to spoil _anything_. Right, Tiny?” She met Tiny’s gaze with eyes that held a decidedly no-nonsense glint.  
  
“Right,” Tiny squeaked.  
  
“Keyop?”  
  
Keyop shrank into his cape as Princess turned her _Happy-Families-Or-Else_ look on him. “Yes’m!” he said meekly.  
  
“Cool it, everybody,” Mark ordered. “Come on, we’re due in debriefing.”  
  
  
  
  
G-Force Director Anderson heard the main door buzz open, heard the voices of the G-Force team and waited the usual ten-or-so minutes while his young charges headed for the rest rooms to transmute out of their battle gear and do whatever might need to be done under the headings of ‘comfort stop’ and ‘freshening up.’ It wasn’t long before they entered Anderson’s office looking happy and triumphant.  
  
Keyop punched the air with one fist as he walked in. “Got ‘em!” he declared. “We rock!” He flung himself into one corner of the big leather sofa and grinned.  
  
“I saw Zark’s feed,” Anderson said. “Well done, team.”  
  
“It wasn’t much of a fight,” Jason said. He sat down in the middle of the sofa and put his hands behind his head. “It was an ancient, worn out old corsair. I think they must’ve got their armour plating second-hand at one of Zoltar’s fire sales. I didn’t even need to let off a bird missile.”  
  
“You know,” Mark ventured carefully, “the Space Patrol could have handled it without a lot of trouble.”  
  
“I know,” Anderson agreed, “but Secretary Claybourne is very pleased with the fact that G-Force handled it, thus demonstrating to the galactic community at large that we mean business when it comes to our zero-tolerance policy regarding space piracy. More to the point, it was some positive PR, of which the ISO stands in sore need since that debacle on Planet Albion.”  
  
“Politics again, huh?” Mark sighed, having picked up on the none-too-subtle cynicism evident in Anderson’s tone.  
  
“What do you mean, ‘again’?” Anderson said dryly. He ran the mission logs and the team discussed their handling of the interception of the recidivist pirate vessel. When they were done, and the lights came back up, Princess had one last question:  
  
“So, is everything all set for tonight?”  
  
Anderson sat down at his desk, his expression blank as he tried to switch his mental focus from operations to family. “Tonight? Oh, right. Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, about that…”  
  
“It’s at your house,” Princess said, “and Fran’s parents will be there.”  
  
Anderson’s brow acquired a set of furrows. “Fran’s parents? Aren’t they visiting next weekend?”  
  
“I asked Gunny about it just yesterday!” Princess exclaimed. “He said you’d booked tonight out as personal time!”  
  
“Of course I did.” Anderson paled. “Wait… The Patricks are coming over _tonight_?”  
  
Princess took a breath and rose slowly to her feet. To the Director G-Force, she seemed to grow a couple of inches. Her hands clenched into fists at her side. “ _Is there some kind of problem?_ ” she asked.  
  
Anderson leaned away from Princess and pushed his chair back a little way, instinctively increasing his distance from potential feminine wrath. “Why don’t you give us all a quick recap of the details?” he suggested carefully.  
  
“You don’t remember?” Princess said, radiating indignation.  
  
“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Anderson pointed out.  
  
“We’re having a family Thanksgiving dinner tonight,” Princess said, “and Fran’s folks are joining us.”  
  
“Hey,” Jason said, “we can reschedule with Fran’s folks.”  
  
“No, we can’t!” Princess said, rounding on Jason. “Fran’s parents want to meet you and your family. We can’t give them the idea that we’re unreliable. They’ve flown down here from Seattle to spend the holiday with us! I already had Fran reschedule dinner to nineteen hundred hours to account for the mission. We can’t cancel now! Honestly, are we so helpless that we can’t organise _one_ meal?”  
  
Jason opened his mouth to say something, but Princess was glaring at him and he closed it again.  
  
Mark ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the ceiling.  
  
Tiny shrugged. “Hey, it isn’t a big deal. Princess, you and Keyop got the turkey, right?”  
  
“It’s defrosting in Jill’s fridge,” Princess said.  
  
“So all we have to do is set a couple extra places at the table.”  
  
“Okay,” Anderson said dubiously. “As long as you all have everything under control.”  
  
“Sure we have,” Tiny declared. “I won’t even add any seafood to the menu!”  
  
“No seafood!” Jason growled. “I hate seafood,” he added. “I’d rather eat broccoli.”  
  
“We could manage broccoli,” Mark said. “I think.” He frowned. “How do you peel broccoli, anyway?”  
  
Anderson held his breath for a moment as Princess stared at her commanding officer. When nothing exploded, he ventured to speak.  
  
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” he asked. “I mean, with dinner guests coming over? You’ve… don’t take this the wrong way, Princess, but you’ve never done this before. Maybe it’d be safer if we booked a table at a restaurant.”  
  
Princess turned back to face the desk. “It’s Thanksgiving dinner! We’re trying to show the Patricks that we’re a normal family... well... as close to normal as we can get, anyway.” Princess paced a few steps then turned to the others as though in appeal. “It reinforces our cover story!” she said.  
  
“That’s… actually a very good point,” Anderson conceded, “but our best option is still to utilise the services of a professional. I’ll book a table somewhere. I’m sure I can pull some strings and get us a reservation some place nice.”  
  
Princess turned back to face the team’s Director. “But –”  
  
“I have it on good authority,” Anderson said, “that real families go to restaurants.”  
  
“But, it’s _Thanksgiving!_ ” Princess wailed.  
  
Anderson held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. If you feel that strongly about it, you’re in charge. I’ll see you all at the house,” he said. “Dismissed.”  
  
The G-Force Director watched the Federation’s premier strike force file out of his office and waited for the door to swing shut behind them. “How _do_ you peel broccoli?” he wondered aloud. Then he remembered exactly what his original plans for the evening had been and reached for his palm unit.  
  
  
  
  
When David Anderson had resigned as Galaxy Security’s Chief of Staff, he’d been obliged to move out of the secure residence that went with the job. As Director G-Force, he was still considered a target by Spectra; he didn’t particularly feel like buying real estate with all the attendant hassles and so Anderson took up Mark’s suggestion that he move to the residential section at ISO Powell Base on the outskirts of Center City, where there were armed guards and all the neighbours had security clearances. And weapons. _Lots_ of weapons.  
  
Anderson still held the equivalent rank of General within the ISO and as such he rated a modest two-storey weatherboard house amongst the other senior officers’ accommodations. The house was significantly smaller than the Chief of Galaxy Security’s residence in town, but Anderson found that he didn’t really miss the empty rooms.  
  
Princess and Keyop had arrived at the house shortly after midday, bringing with them a very large, very dead thawed turkey. Jason had turned up shortly thereafter with a cardboard carton and a cooler, both of which were full of groceries.  
  
Anderson busied himself making coffee while Keyop set out the good silverware on the table for cleaning.  
  
“What’s this?” Princess asked, peering into the carton that Jason had put on the kitchen counter.  
  
“It’s what we on my planet call ‘food,’” Jason quipped.  
  
Princess picked up a large foil bag. “This is instant mashed potato.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jason said. “And?”  
  
Princess locked eyes with her team-mate and shook the bag. “This is _instant_ mashed potato!”  
  
“ _And_?” Jason said again.  
  
Princess rummaged through the carton. “Jason! All this stuff is pre-packaged!”  
  
“Well sure it is,” Jason said. “We’ve never cooked a Thanksgiving dinner before. I figured we should make things easy for ourselves first time out.” He retrieved a cardboard package from the cooler. “See? Family size frozen green bean casserole. Says here, microwave on ‘medium’ for eight minutes. Simple!” He turned to Anderson. “Even you couldn’t get this wrong… well… as long as you had some supervision,” he qualified.  
  
Princess took a deep breath, at which Anderson stepped in to forestall any possible explosions. “Jason has a point,” Anderson said. “All our previous Thanksgiving dinners have been either at Camp Parker or Center Neptune. You’ve never tried to cook a turkey before, let alone all the side dishes. Maybe you should take the easy option.”  
  
“Yeah,” Keyop said. “So we cheat a little. Who’s gonna know?”  
  
“I’ll know!” Princess insisted. “And the Patricks’ll know! You’ve heard Fran talk about them! They’re into slow food, organic produce and pasture-to-plate! Have you _seen_ their social media posts? They eat at top restaurants and they’re all about real food! If we serve up pre-packaged and canned dishes, it’ll be _totally embarrassing_!”  
  
“Princess,” Jason said, “it’s a family meal. So what if we aren’t good cooks? We’ve got other skills. Don’t get all bent outa shape over one Thanksgiving dinner.”  
  
“I’m not–” Princess began to protest, then caught herself. “Okay, maybe I am,” she conceded. “I just want us to be a like a normal family. I want you to make a good impression on Fran’s parents. I want them to like us. All of us.”  
  
Jason let out his breath in a sigh of defeat. “And that means no instant mashed potato?” he concluded.  
  
“It means no instant anything,” Princess said.  
  
Jason took a deep breath and let it go. “If it means that much to you,” he said. Then he frowned. “There’s just one, uh… y’know… challenge,” Jason said, choosing his words carefully. “Assuming Zark can provide all the recipes we need, where are we going to find enough fresh produce to make Thanksgiving dinner from scratch for nine people at short notice? I bought all this stuff days ago. Most of the stores are closed for the holiday.”  
  
Princess’ face fell and she wrung her hands together. “Oh, no,” she groaned.  
  
“Actually,” Anderson said thoughtfully, “I may be able to help with that.”  
  
“Really?” Princess asked, brightening.  
  
“I’ll go make a call,” Anderson said, “and do some grovelling,” he added under his breath.  
  
Jason, Princess and Keyop exchanged glances as their mentor strode out of the room.  
  
“What was that about?” Keyop asked.  
  
Princess shrugged. “No idea.”  
  
  
  
  
Five minutes later, Anderson opened the kitchen door, leaned in and said, “Keyop, you’re with me.”  
  
Keyop set down the bottle of silver polish he was holding and darted away to make good his escape from silverware-cleaning duties.  
  
“You know,” Jason said, “one of the problems with working for Galaxy Security is that the whole ‘compartmentalisation’ thing apparently gets to be a habit.”  
  
“I hear that,” Princess said.  
  
There was a low rumbling sound as the automatic garage door opened then Princess and Jason heard a car engine start.  
  
“He must have found a market that was open today,” Jason surmised.  
  
  
  
  
As Anderson eased the dark blue BMW sedan into the driveway only a few minutes’ drive from the house, Keyop sat up straight. “Why are we…?” he began, then caught himself. “Of course! Al’s veggie garden!”  
  
“Got it in one,” Anderson said as he shut down the engine.  
  
“So why do you have to grovel?” Keyop asked.  
  
“Never mind,” Anderson said. He got out of the car and Keyop did likewise.  
  
Keyop followed Anderson around the side of the house, through the garden gate and into the back yard, where Galaxy Security's Liaison Officer to the Chief of Staff, Lieutenant Colonel Alberta Jones, casual in jeans and a button-down shirt, was bending over one of several raised garden beds, picking green beans.  
  
“You’re just in time to choose a pumpkin!” she said by way of greeting.  
  
“Awesome!” Keyop cried and ran around to where the pumpkin and squash were growing. “What happened here?” he asked, on seeing the vines with only a few fruit left on them.  
  
“It’s late in the season,” Colonel Jones explained. “I’ve already given quite a lot away, but there should be a couple there that you can use. The smaller ones are easier to prepare anyway. Grab at least one pumpkin and a couple of butternut squash. Do you need a knife?”  
  
Keyop returned to where the adults were standing to be handed a small utility knife, which he took back to separate his chosen victims from their vines.  
  
“Al,” he heard Anderson say, “I’m really sorry about the mix-up.”  
  
“As you should be,” Colonel Jones said airily. “Here’s me, spending the evening alone with a tub of ice cream and a box of tissues.”  
  
“Are you really going to spend the evening alone with a tub of ice cream?”  
  
“Of course not. I’ll go to the Officers’ Club.”  
  
Keyop jumped to his feet, squash in hand. “You should come over and have Thanksgiving dinner with us!” he declared. “I mean, come on, you’re giving us all this food, you _have_ to come help us eat it! Fran’s folks are coming.”  
  
Anderson’s palm unit rang with a distinctive tone. He froze.  
  
“That’s not Zark,” Colonel Jones said, frowning.  
  
“No,” Anderson said as he retrieved the phone from his jacket pocket. “No it isn’t.” He stared at the caller ID. “It’s Gran.”  
  
Keyop dropped the squash he was holding and said, “Eep.”  
  
  
  
  
Anderson walked away toward the bottom of the garden, then tapped at the ‘answer’ icon before raising the phone to his ear. “Hello, Gran,” he said.  
  
“ _David_ ,” an imperious voice greeted him. “ _I take it you aren’t in the middle of fighting off some giant monstrous alien garden snail or any such nonsense at the moment._ ”  
  
“Uh, no,” Anderson said. “No, we’re getting ready for a family Thanksgiving at the new place. Jason’s girlfriend’s parents are coming over. They want to meet us.”  
  
“ _Perfect. I’m about to board a shuttle at the Jovian Orbital Transfer Station. We’ll be landing at Center City Spaceport later this afternoon. Have someone collect me._ ”  
  
“I thought you were cruising the Jewel Archipelago on Planet Eden for another week.”  
  
“ _Really, David, for someone so intelligent, you can be terribly dense at times. I obviously cut the cruise short. My shuttle’s due to land at five o’clock Pacific Standard. If you can’t make it, I’ll take a cab, but you know how I detest Center City cabs. They’re unhygienic._ ”  
  
“Okay.” Anderson walked aimlessly past the greens. “I really am delighted that you’re visiting, Gran. The kids are going to be thrilled to see you.”  
  
“ _Oh, my darling boy. I almost couldn’t tell you were lying just then. You’re getting better at it._ ”  
  
“Gran… It’s just unexpected, that’s all. Is there… a reason for your visit?”  
  
“ _Do I need a reason to visit my family at Thanksgiving_?”  
  
“Of course not. I’ll send Mark to collect you.”  
  
“ _Not in that damned convertible of his! He likes to drive with the top down and it ruins my hair! Just organise something, David. I’ll see you soon.”_  
  
The call ended and the man who had until recently headed the Milky Way Galaxy’s largest intelligence agency took a deep breath and tried not to panic.  
  
  
  
  
Keyop looked up from the cardboard box he was loading as Anderson returned. “Should I be afraid?” he asked.  
  
“That’s a very good question,” Colonel Jones said as she stood and brushed dirt from her hands. “Should we?”  
  
“Quite possibly,” Anderson said. “Grandma Sorcha’s cut her cruise short and her flight lands at the Center City Spaceport at seventeen hundred.”  
  
“Is it too late to run away and join the circus?” Keyop asked.  
  
“I get the feeling we already did,” Anderson said. “And this is it.”  
  
“Exactly why would your grandmother cut short a very expensive luxury cruise to come back for Thanksgiving dinner?” Colonel Jones asked, putting her hands on her hips.  
  
Keyop glanced from Anderson to Jones and back again as nobody said anything.  
  
“She didn’t say,” Anderson said eventually.  
  
“Have you spoken to her since you resigned?” Colonel Jones asked.  
  
“Yes,” Anderson said. “I gave her my reasons. All of them.”  
  
“Mystery solved,” Colonel Jones said.  
  
“Grandma Sorcha’s mad that you changed jobs?” Keyop inferred. “I thought she’d be pleased!”  
  
“She probably just wants to make sure it sticks,” Anderson said unconvincingly. Colonel Jones raised an eyebrow.  
  
Keyop frowned. “Is there some grown-up subtext happening at some level or other that I’m not getting?”  
  
“Yes,” Jones said as Anderson said, “No.”  
  
“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’” Keyop decided. “Let me know when you make up your minds.”  
  
“Why don’t you take that box out to the car and put it in the trunk?” Anderson suggested.  
  
“Okay,” Keyop said. He picked up the carton and headed toward the front yard. Grown-ups! Always making things complicated!  
  
Take vegetables, for instance. Here they were at Thanksgiving, which was supposed to be a feast, and everyone expected Keyop to eat _vegetables_! Keyop liked turkey with stuffing and gravy, roast potatoes (which didn’t really count as a vegetable because they tasted so darned good) and pumpkin pie. That ought to be enough to make anyone happy, but no, grown-ups had to put green bean casserole on the table and then insist that Keyop eat it. And carrots. Candied yams weren’t so bad but of course Princess always complained about the amount of sugar Keyop was eating. He wondered if there might be jello salad the way there was at Camp Parker. Colonel Henderson, Camp Parker’s CO, sometimes invited Anderson and the team to have Thanksgiving dinner with him and his grown-up children. Mrs Henderson always made jello salad. It tasted funny and looked kind of gross, especially if you put boiled eggs in it, which looked like floating eyeballs. Jello salad was cool… as long as you didn’t have to actually eat it. Especially with mayonnaise.  
  
Keyop set the carton down next to Anderson’s car. The carton contained potatoes, onions, something that smelled funny… oh, right, that looked like garlic – Keyop approved of garlic when Tiny barbecued lobsters with it – pumpkin, butternut squash, carrots and green beans. He sighed as he opened the lid of the trunk. Princess would wax lyrical about fresh produce and vitamins and she’d expect him to chow down and – worst of all – enjoy it.  
  
When the carton was safely in the trunk and the lid closed, Keyop made his way back. Anderson and Colonel Jones were on the back porch with another carton, which appeared to contain groceries.  
  
“– To have that discussion this evening,” Anderson was saying, “but events kind of… overtook me.”  
  
“Can’t be helped,” Colonel Jones said. “I’ll get changed and see you there shortly.”  
  
“Thanks, Ally,” Anderson said.  
  
“If this all turns into a complete and utter fiasco,” Colonel Jones warned, “it’ll be all your fault, even if it’s Jason’s. That’s one of the Rules, you know.”  
  
“Yes,” Anderson said. “I knew that one from before. Come on, Keyop. Let’s get this stuff back to the house.”  
  
“What’s a fiasco?” Keyop asked as he preceded Anderson back to the car.  
  
“My life, mostly,” Anderson said. “Would you open the trunk, please?”  
  
“Sure,” Keyop said, and did so. Anderson put the carton of groceries in the trunk next to the vegetables and closed the lid.  
  
Keyop climbed into the passenger seat of the car and fastened his seatbelt while Anderson started the engine and checked the mirrors. “So, are you and Colonel Jones friends now?” he asked.  
  
“Yes,” Anderson said as he put the vehicle into reverse and began to back out of the driveway.  
  
“You’re not her boss any more, are you?” Keyop surmised.  
  
“No,” Anderson said, pausing at the kerb. He let the vehicle roll onto Cosgrove Drive.  
  
“Are you gonna ask her out on a date?” Keyop asked.  
  
The Beemer’s tyres uttered a short screech as Anderson’s foot hit the brake pedal with somewhat more force than was strictly necessary.  
  
“Keyop,” he said, “we’re about to attempt to cook a family Thanksgiving dinner from scratch – something we’ve never tried before – Fran’s parents are visiting, Princess is stressed, Jason’s nervous, and now Grandma Sorcha’s coming over with no notice. Can we possibly have this discussion some other time?”  
  
“Is that a ‘yes’?” Keyop asked.  
  
“You know you could always walk back,” Anderson growled. “It isn’t far.”  
  
Keyop arranged his features in what he hoped was a picture of virtue but was in reality a lot closer to a picture of a boy trying not to smirk.  
  
  
  
  
When the vegetables were carried in and placed on the counter, Princess was delighted. “This is perfect!” she declared. “Where’d you get it?”  
  
“We raided Al’s garden!” Keyop said. “And her kitchen, from the looks of it,” he added, with a nod toward the carton Anderson was carrying.  
  
“She’ll be along to lend a hand soon,” Anderson said.  
  
“Great!” Princess said. “Uh… I don’t want to seem ungrateful or anything, but, er… you know you aren’t really very good at food, and um…”  
  
“Understood,” Anderson said. “I’ll leave you to handle things in here. One other thing, though. Grandma Sorcha’s going to be joining us tonight.”  
  
Jason picked up a carving knife and offered it, handle-first, to Princess. “Kill me now,” he said.  
  
“So, I have to go and get the guest room ready,” Anderson said, and fled the scene.  
  
“Jason, don’t be ridiculous,” Princess scolded, taking the knife and putting it back in the block. “Start peeling potatoes or something.”  
  
“What should I do?” Keyop wanted to know.  
  
“What you were doing before,” Princess said. “That silverware isn’t going to clean itself.”  
  
Keyop sat at the table with the silverware, the polish and the cloth. Anderson’s good silverware had been given to his parents as a wedding present. It was old, solid silver and hadn’t been used in a very long time. Keyop applied some polish to the cloth and set to work, listening to Jason and Princess as they began sorting and preparing the vegetables.  
  
“You know,” Jason was saying, “I’m gonna have to bail on you later on to go pick up Fran and her moms from the hotel, but up until then, I’ll do whatever you need to get this meal on the table. At least there’s no broccoli,” he observed, “so Mark doesn’t have to figure out how to peel it.”  
  
Princess giggled. “I can’t believe Mark said that!”  
  
“I can,” Jason said. “Mark subsists on frozen meals, mess halls, Jill’s cafe and take-out. I learned enough cooking to keep myself from starving, but he’s _completely_ useless in a kitchen. You might wanna keep that in mind for future reference, y’know,” Jason couldn’t resist adding.  
  
The front doorbell rang and Keyop heard Anderson descending the stairs to answer it. He heard voices in the hall and turned as the kitchen door swung open to admit Anderson and Colonel Jones, who had changed her clothes and had some kind of fabric things draped over one arm.  
  
Princess put down a handful of beans and hastened to greet the new arrival.  
  
“Thanks for coming over, Al,” she said, “I haven’t seen you since you got out of the hospital. Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Colonel Jones said.  
  
“For someone who got shot two weeks ago,” Anderson added pointedly. “You’re still under doctor’s orders,” he said. He turned to Princess. “Don’t let her lift anything heavier than a teacup, or Doctor Kate’ll have all our hides.”  
  
“No, sir!” Princess said with a smile.  
  
Colonel Jones handed over what looked like a couple of suit-covers with hangers to Anderson, then took another swathe of fabric from the bundle she’d been carrying and shook it out. It turned out to be a green floral pinafore-style apron, which she put on over her clothes and tied at the back. Anderson retreated from the kitchen while Colonel Jones joined Princess and Jason at the kitchen counter and began directing operations.

 


	2. Fit the Second

## FIT THE SECOND

_In which Keyop learns about the history of cutlery and Jason tells Mark to shut up._

 

Keyop peered into the concave surface of a large serving spoon. A parody of his face, distorted, inverted and with a big blotch of tarnish in the middle, peered back at him. Mark and Tiny had arrived a few minutes ago and were busy elsewhere in the house, having managed to avoid helping with the silverware. Keyop stared at the outlandish image reflected in the spoon bowl for a long moment, then applied the polishing cloth. “Princess?” he ventured.  
  
“Hmmm?” Princess barely glanced up from the frying pan she was staring at, wooden spoon poised as though to commence a surgical procedure. In the pan, sliced onions were sizzling.  
  
“Why do we use silverware?”  
  
“Beats using your hands,” Princess said. “Al, how long should this take?”  
  
“Don’t rush it,” Colonel Jones said. “They’ll take some time to caramelise properly.”  
  
“No,” Keyop corrected. “I mean, why _silver_ when it tarnishes like this? We use stainless steel most of the time and you don’t have to spent ages cleaning it up! I don’t get it.”  
  
Princess closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Keyop, I don’t think I can deal with questions like that right now. Maybe you could look it up later?”  
  
“It’s a status symbol,” Jason said as he peeled potatoes.  
  
“Because silver’s a precious metal?” Keyop asked. “But silver’s less durable and not nearly as practical as steel!”  
  
“That’s true,” Colonel Jones said, chopping garlic. “But we didn’t always have stainless steel – or indeed mass-produced steel of any kind – to use on making cutlery. Using silver for tableware dates back centuries. It’s where we get the term ‘blue blood.’”  
  
“What, really?” Keyop finished cleaning the serving spoon and picked up a fork. “How’s that?”  
  
“Argyria,” Jason said with a grin.  
  
“Arg-what-ia?” Keyop echoed.  
  
“Argyria,” Jason said. “Back in olden times, only the rich could afford silver plates and cups and things.  Everyone else used utensils made of wood or clay. Like you said, silver’s a soft metal and people who used silverware all the time ended up ingesting trace amounts of silver. Extended exposure could result in having too much silver in the system. In severe cases, they say it can turn your skin a bluish-grey colour.” He put the last of the potatoes in a bowl and started on a butternut squash.  
  
“Eeeewww!” Keyop said. “Can I possibly be excused from using these?” He waved the fork.  
  
“Using silver cutlery now and then won’t make you sick,” Jones chided gently.  
  
“Yeah,” Jason said. “Some people believe that ingesting colloidal silver’s good for you. You can buy the stuff in those health food places.”  
  
“Huh.” Keyop rubbed at a spot on the back of the fork with his cloth. “History’s neat and all, but I still think using silver to eat with is dumb.”  
  
“Yes, well, when I was your age, I thought a lot of things that grown-ups did were dumb, too,” Jones said.  
  
Keyop put the fork down and sat up straight. “Really?”  
  
“Everyone does,” Jones said.  
  
“Everyone?”  
  
“Of course,” Princess said. “I _still_ think that some things adults do are dumb – no offence, Al.”  
  
“None taken,” Jones said. “Trust me, age is no barrier to stupidity.”  
  
“Tonight for instance,” Keyop said. “Why is it so important that Fran’s moms come to dinner? Jason’s dating Fran, not her parents!”  
  
Princess stirred the onions and shook the pan. “It’s a thing that normal families do,” she said.  
  
“But why?” Keyop asked.  
  
Princess took a breath. “Parents love their kids, right?” she said.  
  
“I guess,” Keyop said. “I wouldn’t know. I never had any parents, remember?”  
  
“Most parents love their kids,” Princess said. “You’ll have to trust me on that. Anyway, when one of your kids is going steady with someone else’s kid, you kind of want to know what they’re like, and by extension, you want to know what their family’s like as well.”  
  
“But, Jason, hasn’t Fran just _told_ her folks what we’re like?” Keyop asked.  
  
“Sure she has,” Jason said. “That’s probably why they’re here. Fran told them about you and now they’re _really_ worried.”  
  
“What?” Keyop drew himself up in outrage.  
  
“Cut it out, Jason!” Princess scolded. “Of course that isn’t what happened, Keyop! Jason, if you’re only going to tease Keyop, maybe you should go find Mark and make sure the Beemer’s ready for the ride to the hotel.”  
  
“The Beemer?” Jason echoed. “What’s wrong with my car?”  
  
Princess put her hands on her hips. “The Beemer!” she said, and pointed at the kitchen door. “Go ask for the keys and make sure the battery isn’t flat or anything! And find Tiny and get him in here to finish peeling the vegetables.”  
  
“Okay, okay!” Jason said. He put down the squash he’d been peeling, dropped the peeler in the sink and washed his hands before drying them on a paper towel. “I’m going, already!”  
  
When the door had swung shut behind Jason, Keyop spoke up again.  
  
“So, why is it so important that we impress Fran’s folks? Does Jason have to take the whole family out on a date?”  
  
“No, silly!” Princess scolded. “It’s a family dinner, where everyone behaves like a _normal_ family!”  
  
“But we’re not a normal family,” Keyop pointed out. “Why do you want us to be like something we aren’t?”  
  
“It isn’t like that!” Princess protested. “We _are_ a family! Anyway, it isn’t like we can invite the Patricks to Center Neptune and show them around the G-Force Ready Room. We have our cover story and we need to work with it.” She picked up the peeler Jason had been using, rinsed it and continued peeling the squash.  
  
“But Fran knows that we’re G-Force,” Keyop argued.  
  
“ _Fran_ does. The rest of her family doesn’t. Keyop, you know how it works.”  
  
Keyop considered for a moment while he cleaned another fork. “If Jason and Fran got married…”  
  
“ _Keyop_!” Princess turned and pointed the vegetable peeler at Keyop. “One: don’t you dare embarrass Jason or Fran with that kind of talk once they get here! Two: Fran’s family don’t have the right security clearances to know about G-Force. End of story!”  
  
  
  
  
The guest room window had been opened so that the room could be aired, the linen had been checked and clean towels laid out. Anderson was descending the stairs when the kitchen door opened and Alberta Jones ventured forth holding two steaming mugs.  
  
“Hello, you,” she said. “I come bearing coffee.”  
  
“Does that mean you’ve forgiven me for asking you if you could make coffee, what… nearly three years ago?” Anderson asked.  
  
“Jury’s out,” Jones said. “Anyway, Princess made this, so it’s a moot point.”  
  
Anderson took the mug of coffee and led Jones into the living room. “Please have a seat.”  
  
They sat on the sofa and sipped at their drinks for a moment.  
  
“Are you all right?” Jones asked. “You seem a bit frayed around the edges.”  
  
“I’m sorry about all of this,” Anderson said. “I was sure the Patricks were booked for next weekend. Maybe I really am missing a few marbles.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Jones said. “It’s been a frenetic two weeks and we’re all adjusting.”  
  
“So… you aren’t sore at me over cancelling on you tonight and then asking you to come over and cook? Because you have every right to be.”  
  
“Don’t be silly. This is Jason’s big night. I’m happy to help.” Jones gave Anderson a calculating look. “David, am I going to get interrogated by Sorcha Anderson? The one woman in the Galaxy who can make you nervous?”  
  
“Well…” Anderson grimaced. “Yes. And I should point out that there have been times when _you’ve_ made me nervous. I’m grateful that you agreed to stay.”  
  
“The things I do for you,” Jones said, shaking her head.  
  
“There’s more,” Anderson ventured. “I need to send Mark to collect Gran from the spaceport. Jason’s using my car to collect Fran’s parents. Sorcha hates Mark’s convertible only slightly less than Tiny’s van and the G‑2’s out of the question.”  
  
“You want to borrow my car, don’t you?” Jones inferred.  
  
  
  
  
Approximately half an hour later, Keyop only had a few items of silverware left to clean. The kitchen had become decidedly fragrant with fresh chopped garlic and herbs; one of the cardboard cartons now contained vegetable peelings earmarked for compost; there were vegetables simmering in saucepans on the stove; Tiny had escaped to do some other chore that took him out of the kitchen; and the two remaining cooks were standing at the counter, doing something unspeakable to the turkey. Keyop fancied that the poor bird was probably glad it was dead.  
  
Keyop glanced up as Anderson eased the kitchen door open and walked in, trying to be unobtrusive but apparently in need of caffeine.  
  
Anderson surveyed the kitchen counter with its dishes and platters. “Is there, um... anything I can do, to, er... you know... help, at all?”  
  
“Why don’t you put the kettle on?” Colonel Jones suggested. “I could murder a cup of tea.”  
  
“Right.” Anderson walked over to the kettle and checked the water level. He topped it up, returned it to its base and switched it on. This was, to the best of Keyop’s knowledge, one of the few things the Director G-Force could accomplish in a kitchen without setting anything on fire.  
  
Keyop chuckled over the dessert spoons, but stopped when Anderson directed a sharp look at him. Princess and Jones continued stuffing the turkey.  
  
Anderson took cups from the cupboard and put them on the counter near the kettle. “Al?” Anderson ventured.  
  
“Black, no sugar, not too strong, slice of lemon,” Colonel Jones said absently.  
  
“I know,” Anderson said. “I just wanted to say that when Sorcha gets here… she’s… um… she can be difficult to deal with.”  
  
Keyop sniggered again and muttered, “That’s the understatement of the century,” under his breath.  
  
Jones wiped her hands on a paper towel. She glanced at Keyop, who had picked up the last of the spoons, then turned her attention back to Anderson. “Would it make you feel better if I promise not to shoot her?”  
  
“You promise?” Anderson asked.  
  
“I promise.” Colonel Jones motioned for Anderson to follow her away from the counter while Princess carefully placed the turkey in the roasting pan. They stood next to where Keyop was hard at work and Jones lowered her voice. “How much do you know about girls and clothes, and what are the chances of G‑Force needing to respond to an emergency alert tonight?”  
  
Anderson’s blank expression didn’t just speak volumes, it comprised most of a rather large library.  
  
Silently, Keyop vowed to avoid growing up for as long as he possibly could.  
  
  
  
  
In the hotel café, Madison Patrick considered her middle daughter over a cup of coffee. “I hear Jason’s father changed jobs recently,” she said.  
  
Francine, who had inherited Madison’s looks but not her temperament, sipped at her water. “Yes,” she said. “He’s now the Director G-Force. It makes the relationship a little easier since I’m not working for him any more.”  
  
“Do you get on well with the rest of Jason’s family, Francine?” Madison asked.  
  
“Oh, sure! I’ve told you about Princess. She’s the one who introduced me to Jason. The boys are all great. Mark can be a little intense sometimes, but other times he’s kind of adorkable. Tiny’s great – he’s always laid-back and never gets uptight about anything. Keyop’s a great kid.”  
  
“And they all work for Galaxy Security?”  
  
“Yeah. Jason’s a test-driver for Research and Development, Princess is training to become an analyst, Mark’s a test-pilot, Tiny flies heavies and Keyop’s a cadet. You can’t ask any of them about their work, you know. It’s all classified.”  
  
“And their adoptive father?”  
  
“It’s funny,” Fran said. “I’ve known him for almost three years as my Chief of Staff and my protection assignment, but outside of the job, I hardly know anything about him other than what Jason’s told me. He isn’t the kind of person who just opens up and lets other people in, you know? They’re… kind of an unconventional family, what with everyone being adopted and all, but they make it work.”  
  
  
  
  
“How does it work now anyway?” Keyop asked. He had washed the polished silverware in hot water and was arranging the items on the rack with a clatter of metal. The turkey had been in the oven for an hour and a half, which meant that the kitchen was warming up from the heat of the oven, the heat of the stove-top, the heat of the dishwasher, the kettle, the microwave and the hot water Keyop was using.  
  
Princess and Colonel Jones had opened the kitchen window to let in some fresh air and Princess was standing at the stove top with a wooden spoon in one hand, carefully stirring the spiced pumpkin custard for the dessert.  
  
Colonel Jones had her palm unit on the kitchen counter and was consulting the holo display of a recipe, tea mug in hand.  
  
“How does what work?” Princess asked. She wiped away a trickle of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her free hand.  
  
“Us,” Keyop said. “All of us. Now that it turns out Jason’s a real live honest-to-goodness Anderson?”  
  
“It’s no different to the way it was before,” Princess said. “He’s still Jason. He’s always been James Anderson’s son. He just didn’t want to know before. I think he probably still doesn’t really want to know but, well… circumstances changed, and here we are.”  
  
Keyop found a clean tea towel and started drying the silverware. “But…”  
  
“But?”  
  
“But Jason’s really truly a member of the family. We’re adopted.”  
  
“It makes no difference,” Princess said.  
  
“Even to Grandma Sorcha?” Keyop challenged.  
  
“Oh.” Princess paused in her work, then realised she wasn’t supposed to stop stirring and resumed the activity in question. “I think Grandma Sorcha was kind of bummed out that Jason didn’t acknowledge his father. Remember, Jason’s dad was Grandma Sorcha’s grandson, and… well, it’s probably a little complicated. Remember, she’s _always_ known about Jason’s dad. I doubt she’s suddenly going to ignore the rest of us from now on.”  
  
“Would it be a bad thing if she did?” Keyop quipped.  
  
“Hey,” Princess warned. “Don’t make me come over there.”  
  
“But she’s always like, ‘What are you going to do with your life?’ and ‘Why don’t you get a decent haircut?’ and ‘Why aren’t you reading more?’ and ‘Let’s go to an art gallery!’ and ‘Learn to appreciate music!’”  
  
“I know,” Princess said with a sigh. “I think she’s just trying to help.”  
  
“I’m not feeling it,” Keyop said.  
  
“Anyway,” Princess reiterated, “things are no different for the five of us just because Jason’s had to man up and read his birth certificate. We’re still us, and that’s never going to change.”  
  
“I guess,” Keyop said.  
  
“What’s _really_ bothering you?” Princess asked.  
  
“Nothing,” Keyop said, and turned his attention to the silverware again. “Fran has sisters, right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Princess said. “One older, one younger.”  
  
“Are they coming tonight?” Keyop asked.  
  
“No,” Princess said. “They’re both off-world visiting their grandparents for Thanksgiving. Why?”  
  
“Don’t they want to meet Jason – and us – too?”  
  
“Maybe,” Princess said. “They just couldn’t make it this time. Maybe we’ll meet them at Christmas or something.”  
  
“Do we have to have big family Christmas get-togethers now?” Keyop asked.  
  
“I don’t know,” Princess said. “Why don’t we wait for Christmas and find out?”  
  
“Huh,” Keyop said. He put the last knife down. “All done! Can I go see if Mark and Jason need a hand in the garage?”  
  
“Okay,” Princess said. “Scoot!”  
  
  
  
  
When the kitchen door swung shut behind Keyop, Princess let her breath out in a sigh.  
  
“What is it with Keyop and the questions, today?” she asked nobody in particular.  
  
“I think it’s one of the rules of child-rearing,” Jones said. “Here. Give me that. You go and make some more coffee.” Jones relieved Princess of the wooden spoon and took over stirring the custard.  
  
“What rules of child-rearing are those?” Princess asked.  
  
“Well, one of them is that the busier you are, the more questions children ask, and the curlier those questions are. They save the _really_ embarrassing ones for when you have the Vicar over to tea. I used to babysit my nephew when he was small and he saved all his best questions for when I was trying to study for my translator’s accreditation.”  
  
“So what did you do?” Princess asked as she spooned coffee into the filter cone.  
  
“I answered his questions in Spectran. He stopped asking.”  
  
“Unfortunately,” Princess said, “Keyop speaks fluent Spectran. In fact, he’s probably the best at it of all of us.” She filled the water reservoir and turned the coffee maker on. “Should I even be drinking coffee?” she wondered aloud. “I’ve already got a galaxy-class case of the jitters.”  
  
“Then why not boil the kettle and make some tea?” Jones suggested.  
  
“Are you trying to get me to engage in displacement activity?” Princess asked, hands on hips.  
  
“I’m _hoping_ ,” Jones said, “that you might make some tea. You know I don’t drink coffee. The coffee was the displacement activity.”  
  
Princess laughed and filled the kettle.   
  
  
  
  
When Keyop sidled into the garage, he found that the big tilting door was open and Mark was lounging in the doorway. Mark appeared to be unable to keep from smirking while Jason looked uncomfortable. “So, you’re meeting your girlfriend’s parents,” Mark was saying. “In fact, we’re _all_ meeting your girlfriend’s parents.”  
  
“Shut up, Mark,” Jason growled, and switched on the vacuum cleaner so that to all intents and purposes, that was what happened.  
  
“Why’s Jason taking Anderson’s car?” Keyop asked.  
  
“What?” Mark asked, raising his voice to be heard over the vacuum cleaner.  
  
Keyop led Mark onto the driveway and away from the noise before repeating his question.  
  
“Oh,” Mark said. “Princess doesn’t want Jason collecting Fran’s Moms in the G-2,” he explained.  
  
“I know that part. What’s wrong with the G-2?” Keyop asked.  
  
“Well,” Mark said, “it’s kind of… a race car.”  
  
“So?” Keyop asked. “Jason takes us out in it, and he’s taken Fran out in it tons of times!”  
  
“Yeah, well… it’s complicated,” Mark said.  
  
“Why do people always say that?” Keyop asked.  
  
“I…” Mark ran a hand through his hair. “I guess… The Beemer’s just a nicer car, that’s all. Princess wants everything to be perfect.”  
  
“ _That_ isn’t complicated,” Keyop said.  
  
“Well, no… but…”  
  
“So, is that not the real answer?”  
  
“It’s one of the answers!” Mark protested.  
  
Keyop frowned. “Is it because Jason and Fran made out in the back seat?”  
  
“Keyop!” Mark exclaimed. “No… Yes… Maybe. It’s complicated,” he said again.  
  
Jason finished vacuuming and turned the cleaner off. “What are you two conspiring about over there?” he asked.  
  
“Uh… nothing,” Mark said with a warning glance at Keyop. He hurried over to take the vacuum cleaner from Jason.  
  
“Thanks Mark,” Jason sighed. “Hey, Keyop, toss me the leather conditioner, will you?”  
  
Keyop rummaged in the bucket that contained the car cleaning equipment. “Here you go!” He pitched a small bottle overarm and Jason caught it with one hand.  
  
“So,” Mark said, sauntering back across to Jason’s side of the garage, “nervous?”  
  
“Do the words ‘justifiable homicide’ mean anything to you?” Jason hinted.  
  
“Not coming from you, they don’t,” Mark parried.  
  
“In your dreams, fly-boy.” Jason sneezed. “Where does all the dust come from?” he wondered.  
  
“It probably accounts for most of the dark matter in the universe,” Mark theorised.  
  
“Very funny. ‘ _Ho, ho. Ha, ha. It is to laugh_ ,’” Jason quoted.  
  
“Daffy Duck, right?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“That’s dark, man.”  
  
“Yeah, well, if it wasn’t for Princess, I would have cancelled at the first opportunity, and I think Fran would have cancelled it at the second.” Jason stood motionless by the open door of the Beemer, leather conditioner in one hand, cloth in the other. “D’you think Princess might be overcompensating? She’s, like, _really_ invested in this whole family Thanksgiving thing.”  
  
“I know.” Mark shrugged. “Tonight seems to mean more to her than to any of us – including you and Fran. I can’t blame her, though. I kind of feel we owe it to her to make the effort. You know she holds us all together.”  
  
“Yeah.” Jason flipped the cap on the bottle of leather conditioner open and squeezed a small amount onto the cloth he was holding. “I guess this is as close as we get to doing normal family stuff. And now Grandma Sorcha’s invited herself to dinner. Could it get any worse?”  
  
“It won’t be that bad,” Mark said, reaching into his pocket for a set of car keys. “Anyway, speaking of Grandma Sorcha, I’d better go if I’m going to meet her at the spaceport. If I leave now, she’ll be held up at baggage claim and customs, but if I leave any later, she’ll get through early and then I’ll have kept her waiting.” Mark turned and ran over to where the silver Audi was parked on the verge, unlocked the door and jumped inside. Keyop watched as Mark started the engine and steered the car out into the street.  
  
“So,” Jason said, “you managed to escape from kitchen detail, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Keyop said. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Yeah?” Jason leaned into the sedan to apply the leather conditioner, so Keyop opened the door on the other side in order to be heard.  
  
“What’s it like, knowing you’ve got a real uncle and a real great-grandmother?”  
  
“What do you mean, what’s it like?”  
  
“Nothing,” Keyop said, “I just… I just wondered, is all.”  
  
Jason rubbed the conditioner into the upholstery in quick circular motions. “I guess it seems a little surreal. I mean, there must have been a part of me that knew at some level. It didn’t come as a shock, so much… It’s just kinda weird, I guess.”  
  
“In what way? Princess says you’re still you.”  
  
“Well, of course I’m still me. Who else would I be? Zoltar? Anderson doesn’t treat me any different, and… well, I don’t know what Grandma Sorcha’s gonna say or do. I hope she doesn’t make a scene. Truth is, I don’t give it a whole lotta thought most of the time. Like you said, I’m me. I guess I know where I come from, and maybe someday it’ll be important, but right now it’s… it’s almost like… you know where you’re reading a story, and there are these little notes at the bottom of the pages sometimes? They’re kind of… an aside, not part of the main plot… kind of…”  
  
“You mean like footnotes?”  
  
“Yeah! That’s it. The whole Anderson family thing, it’s kinda like a footnote to me. It’s only as important as I want it to be, and right now, it’s not that important.” Jason backed out of the vehicle and straightened up. “You want to help with this or do you need to be back in the kitchen?”  
  
“I should get back,” Keyop said. “They’ll probably need me to unload the dishwasher or something. Al’s not supposed to be lifting anything heavy.”  
  
“Lucky she’s got you to look out for her. Go on, then.”  
  
  
  
  
The tea had been made, the custard was in the ramekins and Princess had retrieved a creased and stained piece of notepaper from the kitchen counter. “Let’s see how our list is going,” she said. She ran a finger down the page. “Stuffing made, check. Stuffing inside turkey, check. Turkey in oven, check. ‘Do not shoot Sorcha Anderson.’ Did you write that?”  
  
“I might have,” Jones hedged, unconvincingly.  
  
“Can I add, ‘Do not kill the boys’ to this?”  
  
“Feel free,” Jones said. “You should probably also add, ‘Remember to breathe.’”  
  
“Good idea.” Princess found the pen and added the two items in question to the list. “Root vegetables par-boiled. Is that the last batch in there? Are they ready?”  
  
“Yes, I think so,” Jones said, and walked over to the cooktop to turn the gas jets off.  
  
“Check,” Princess said, and crossed off another line on the list. “Spiced pumpkin _crème brulée_ … Tell me why we’re doing a French dessert?”  
  
“Because you’re trying to impress Fran’s parents. We’re keeping the main course simple so we can blow their socks off with the dessert. It’s a work in progress,” Jones said.  
  
“Table set?”  
  
“That’s a job you can delegate to the boys,” Jones said.  
  
Princess bit her lower lip. “But what if they get it wrong?”  
  
“Then they get it wrong. Delegate.”  
  
“I dunno, Al…”  
  
“ _Delegate._ ”  
  
“Okay, but if they mess it up…”  
  
“Then it’s not your fault. Do I have to say, ‘delegate’ again?”  
  
“Okay, okay! I’ll delegate! Green bean casserole. Oh, no, we haven’t even started on the green bean casserole!”  
  
“Will you relax?” Jones said. “They’re fresh green beans. They hardly take any time at all to cook. All we have to do is caramelise some more onions, sauté the mushrooms, par-boil the beans, make the sauce, throw it all in a dish and stick it in the oven to brown. You can do the onions while I make the creamy mushroom sauce. With the two of us working on it, it’ll take forty-five minutes at the very most.”  
  
“So what’s the time, now?”  
  
“It’s barely sixteen thirty. We don’t even have to take the foil off the turkey for another two hours.”  
  
Keyop opened the kitchen door. “Do you need any heavy lifting done?” he asked.  
  
“My hero,” Jones said.  
  
  
  
  
As Keyop had predicted, the dishwasher had finished its cycle, so he unloaded it. He gave the dishes one last pass with a tea towel to check for and remove any spots, then put the dishes away and began loading it again with the saucepan which had held the custard and the pots that the root vegetables had been par-boiled in.  
  
Once he was done, he added the dishwasher tablet, closed the door and set the machine to run on its economy cycle while the women considered the steaming ramekins arranged on an oven tray. The scent of spiced pumpkin custard wafted through the kitchen and made Keyop’s mouth water. He found himself hoping there’d be enough for seconds.  
  
“We’ll give it about twenty minutes,” Colonel Jones said. “Thank goodness this kitchen has a double oven.”  
  
“I have to admit,” Princess said, “I never thought I’d see either of ‘em used… not without something catching on fire, anyway.”  
  
“Let’s not tempt fate,” Jones warned.  
  
“Good point,” Princess said. “So, what do we do next?”  
  
“Once the custard’s set, we cool it down, then we sprinkle the sugar on top and melt it, then we chill it right down to serve. We can use an ice bath if need be.”  
  
“And the other vegetables?” Princess asked, consulting her list.  
  
“We’ll put them in around eighteen twenty, otherwise they’ll end up being overcooked. What we need to do now they’ve been drained is toss them in the extra-virgin olive oil with the garlic and herbs. Look, why don’t I write down all the times that we need to do things so that you can stop fretting?”  
  
“Yes, please!” Princess said, and handed over the list. She watched as Jones wrote down a series of numbers next to each task.  
  
“There,” Jones said, “now it’s almost an action plan.”  
  
“Okay,” Princess said, and took a deep breath. “I’m remembering to breathe,” she said.  
  
“Why’re you so uptight, Princess?” Keyop asked.  
  
“Why am I…?” Princess stared at Keyop.  
  
“Remember Item Seventeen!” Colonel Jones said.  
  
“Item Seventeen?” Princess echoed.  
  
Jones pointed at the list. “ _Do not kill the boys_ ,” she recounted.  
  
“Does that _have_ to be there?” Princess asked.  
  
“Apparently, yes,” Jones said. “Keyop, you’ve done such a good job on the silverware. Why don’t you and Tiny go and set the table? Ask your father to show you where the tablecloth and the napkins are. With you on the job, I’m sure the table’s going to look fantastic.”  
  
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Keyop asked.  
  
“Yes,” Jones said. “Yes I am. Off you trot.”  
  
  
  
  
Jason was used to staring people down. He was used to being stared at, gaped at, glared at, peered at and glowered at. He was almost immune to the Anderson stare. He’d outfaced any number of Spectran commanders and, figuratively speaking, stared death in the face.  
  
So he should, to his way of thinking, have been able to face the Mrs Patricks with a certain amount of aplomb.  
  
He was reduced to faking it, however.  
  
Madison Patrick was an elegant, refined woman with her red hair (coloured, Jason decided, since very few humans had naturally scarlet hair) swept up into a chignon. She wore a green trouser suit and a very expensive looking emerald pendant around her neck. He expected her to be tall when she stood, but she only came up to his shoulder, even on her ridiculously high heels. Her accent had its origins in the more expensive suburbs of Boston. “So, you’re Jason Anderson,” she said, holding out a be-ringed hand. “It’s nice to meet you, I hope.” Madison Patrick’s cornflower blue eyes and delicate bone structure gave Jason a pretty good idea as to what Fran would look like when she got older.  
  
Jason took the proffered hand and shook it politely. “Likewise, ma’am,” he said.  
  
“And this is my Mom Althea,” Fran said. Fran was clearly nervous. She wore a tailored pale pink dress that came to just above her knees with sensible shoes and had her hair brushed out loose. Jason had the impression that she might have been going to a job interview afterward, only _he_ was the one being interviewed this evening, wasn’t he? For the occasion – and thank heaven it was a cold night – he’d put a turtleneck over his t-shirt and proving that love truly does make fools of us all, worn a dark blue blazer over it. Tiny had sniggered, but had been silenced when Princess daintily and precisely kicked him in the ankle.  
  
“Hi, Jason.” Althea Patrick was tall, with the same striking dark hair as her daughter and the build of a natural athlete. The ankle-length burgundy dress she wore accentuated her height. “Fran’s told us so much about you!” She smiled and shook Jason’s hand. “Don’t worry,” Althea added. “It was all good. Would you like some coffee or anything before we head over?”  
  
“No thank you, ma’am,” Jason said.  
  
“Then we might as well get going. Let the torture commence!” Althea declared with a wink.  
  
  
  
  
David Anderson leaned against the door frame of his study, from where he could survey the dining area in relative safety. Anderson had purchased a twelve-place dining suite once he realised how many people he might conceivably need to seat for a meal and it took up most of the dining room. Tiny had spent a chunk of the afternoon repairing a suspect chair whose leg had come loose about a week earlier after Keyop had attempted to try lion-taming with the neighbours’ golden retriever. He had filled the gouges left by Toby’s teeth, sanded it down, applied some stain, then polished the pine until it shone. Keyop and Tiny were now trying to get the tablecloth on straight.  
  
“More on the left,” Tiny said, and Keyop gave the cloth a tug. “Your other left!” Tiny cried.  
  
“That’s my right!” Keyop argued.  
  
“But it’s _my_ left!” Tiny maintained.  
  
“It’s straight on my side, now,” Keyop said.  
  
“Looks good from over here,” Tiny agreed.  
  
“All done!” Keyop stood back and held out both arms in a gesture of triumph. “Ta-dah!”  
  
“Well done,” Anderson said.  
  
“Now to set the table!” Tiny said.  
  
“You want a whip you can crack over my head?” Keyop asked. “Maybe some leg irons for your poor, overworked slave? There are laws against using child labour, y’know!”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Tiny said. “I’ll go get the silverware. You stay here and rest your weary bones.”  
  
  
  
  
Keyop clambered up into one of the chairs and sat down to survey his handiwork. He smoothed out a wrinkle in the tablecloth and gazed down the length of the table. At the far end of the room, his reflection looked back at him from the bevelled glass doors of the cabinet atop the sideboard. One of the bevels made his face look as though it took a downward turn to the left. He tilted his head and this time it was the right side of his face that angled downward.  
  
Behind him, the grown-ups were talking. “So,” Anderson said to Colonel Jones, who was standing next to him in the doorway, “Jason’s bringing his girlfriend’s parents over for dinner. How did we get here? One day I’m helping him understand long division and now this! Do you have any idea how _old_ I feel right now?”  
  
“None at all, sorry,” Colonel Jones said. “I have absolutely no experience at raising children, which makes me one of the worst people to talk to if you’re looking for sympathy.”  
  
“Some help you are,” Anderson grumbled.  
  
“Al?” Princess called from the kitchen. “Where’d you get to? I need a hand with the pumpkin _crème brulée_!”  
  
“On my way!” Colonel Jones called.  
  
“Pumpkin _crème brulée_?” Anderson surmised. “You’re pushing the envelope, aren’t you?”  
  
“Princess is a very fast learner,” Colonel Jones said and headed for the kitchen. Keyop got out of his chair and followed in the hope of a sample. Tiny bustled past him with the silverware.  
  
In the kitchen, Princess was peering quizzically at the ramekins containing the spiced pumpkin custard. “I think they’re cool enough to put in the iced water now,” Princess said. “What do you think? Is the custard supposed to wobble like that?”  
  
“That’s exactly what it’s supposed to do,” Colonel Jones said airily.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Well, yes, but it’s a particularly French kind of wobble. Think of it as a... _tremblement du cuisine_ , sort of thing.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it, Al. What do I do, now?”  
  
Jones checked the ramekins. “Time for the ice bath,” she said. “Keyop, could you get the ice, please?”  
  
Once the ramekins were chilling down in the iced water, Princess glanced over her shoulder at Keyop, who was lurking hopefully. “You know, we _did_ make a few extras,” she said.  
  
Colonel Jones turned to see Keyop’s expectant face looking back at her. “So we did,” she said.  
  
“Go on,” Princess said, and nodded toward the cutlery drawer. “Grab a spoon.”  
  
Keyop punched the air. “Yes!” He fetched a spoon and sat down at the table while Princess removed one of the ramekins, wiped it dry and set it down in front of him.   
  
“Let us know if it’s any good.”  
  
Keyop dug in and spooned up a mouthful of custard. It was warm and silky with a rich flavour reminiscent of pumpkin pie. He swallowed and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.   
  
Princess checked her list against the time display on the microwave.  
  
“Oh, man! It’s after eighteen hundred! Breathe, right? I have to breathe!”  
  
“I’ve always found breathing conducive to a general state of well-being,” Jones said. “Come on, you can put the vegetables in the oven while I get started on the onions for the green bean casserole.”  
  
A few minutes later, Princess closed the oven on the vegetables and checked the oven temperature. She checked the list one more time and exhaled in a long sigh of relief.  
  
“Now we’ve got some breathing space!” she said.  
  
“I have a question for you,” Jones said, “what are you wearing for the occasion?”  
  
“Oh, this I guess,” Princess said, gesturing with one hand to the clothes she had on.  
  
“Princess,” Jones said, “there’s a reason I’m wearing an apron.”  
  
Princess looked down at her shirt and saw the smear of butter, the streak of corn-starch and something that might have been some kind of vegetable juice. “Oh, crud,” she said. “I’ll just have to trans– I mean, I’ll have to, um...”  
  
“Do that ultra-classified glowy thing that I don’t know anything about because it’s above my clearance level but have witnessed several times over the last few years?” Jones surmised.  
  
“Uh... maybe?”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Jones said. She put down the knife she was holding and wiped her hands on the apron. “Come with me.”  
  
“Where are we going?” Princess asked.  
  
“Upstairs,” Jones said. “It’s time to get changed… _without_ any ultra-classified glowy stuff.”  
  
  
  
  
Keyop and Tiny were negotiating the placement of the silverware while Anderson observed from a safe distance.  
  
“You only put fish knives out if you’re having fish,” Tiny insisted.  
  
“Slave driver,” Keyop grumbled again, and collected the fish knives. “I cleaned ‘em and everything! Whose idea is it to have all these different forks and knives and stuff anyway? Stupid fancy silverware…”  
  
“We’re pretty much set,” Tiny announced, putting the last napkin in a ring and setting it down on one of the plates. He ran a hand through his hair and shifted his weight. “So, who sits where?”  
  
Anderson weighed up the possibilities. “Chairs would be fine.” He considered leaving it at that, but his sense of responsibility weighed in and refused to let it go. “Okay, here’s how it works...”  



	3. Fit the Third

## FIT THE THIRD

 _In which the guests arrive._  
  
The sun was setting over ISO Powell when the sound of a car door closing in the driveway generated a ripple of trepidation through the occupants of the Anderson residence.  
  
The front door opened and a tall statuesque woman strode in. Her hair had once been a rich auburn but was now completely silver and her violet eyes were sharp. She was elegantly clad in a powder blue linen suit with a string of pearls at her throat. The lines on her face were suggestive of a life well-lived and she carried herself with the supreme self-assuredness of one who is accustomed to being the centre of attention.  
  
“Gran!” Anderson hurried forward to greet his formidable grandmother. “How was your flight?”  
  
“Tiresome,” Sorcha Anderson said. “Mark! Where are my bags?”  
  
“Coming, Grandma Sorcha!” Mark staggered in the front door dragging a trolley case with his right hand and lugging another bag in his left. “There are more bags in the trunk,” he said.  
  
“On it,” Tiny said. “Nice to see you, Grandma Sorcha. I’ll just go fetch your other bags!”  
  
“Well,” Sorcha said, glancing around. “You’ve certainly made some changes. Honestly, David! On your salary, you ought to be able to buy a decent house rather than rent on an ISO base!”  
  
“Maybe,” Anderson said, “but the neighbours here are armed, dangerous and trained to salute me. This way, Gran. The guest room’s upstairs.”  
  
  
  
  
The seating plan had been finalised and all the silverware declared present and correct when Princess descended the stairs. She was wearing a tailored jade green dress with her usual black pumps. Her hair had been pinned up in a roll and she wore a pair of pearl studs in her ears. Jones followed some distance behind and slipped unnoticed into the kitchen.  
  
As Princess entered the dining room, Mark stared open-mouthed and Keyop grinned. Anderson blinked once before appearing to remember his instructions.  
  
“Princess,” he said, “you look very elegant.”  
  
“I...” Mark said. “You... uh... what he said.”  
  
Tiny was the first male member of G-Force to recover enough to say anything sensible. “Where’d you get the threads, Princess?”  
  
“Al lent me one of her outfits,” Princess said. “We’re mostly the same size. If there’s an alert, I just need five minutes to get changed.”  
  
“Which is fine,” Anderson assured her. He made his exit, leaving Princess to the admiration of her peers. Keyop followed Anderson to the kitchen, where Colonel Jones was lining up the ramekins containing the pumpkin crème brulée. There was a small butane torch on the counter next to the tray with the desserts.  
  
Jones had exchanged her casual attire for a pair of black linen trousers and an ivory silk blouse which was duly protected by the green floral apron. She offered up a wry smile.  
  
“Sometimes,” Jones said, “a young woman needs to be reminded that she is, in fact, a young woman. In this case all it took was a change of clothes and a few safety pins.”  
  
“Safety pins?” Anderson echoed.  
  
“Best not to ask, really,” Jones said as she finalised the arrangement of the ramekins.  
  
“You know,” Anderson ventured, “for someone with no child-rearing experience, you’re doing okay. Princess seems very happy.”  
  
“Yes,” Jones said. “She hugged me rather exuberantly. I almost lost a shoe.” She picked up the butane torch and ignited it.  
  
“You didn’t hate it as much as you pretend,” Anderson said. “Thank you. Just don’t set fire to the kitchen,” he added. “That’s _my_ job.”  
  
Colonel Jones was smiling as Anderson left the kitchen. “Do you want to help?” she asked Keyop. “This is the fun part where you get to melt the sugar with the torch.”  
  
“Like destroying Zoltar’s ships with _Fiery Phoenix_!” Keyop declared.  
  
“Well, maybe not quite,” Colonel Jones said. “Ease back on the wholesale destruction for the purposes of the exercise. We’re just going for melted sugar this time, okay?”  
  
“Ah,” Keyop said sagely. “ _Precision_. I can do precision.”  
  
“All right, maestro. Take the torch like so…”  
  
  
  
  
The dark blue BMW glided slowly up Eisenhower Street, its headlamps illuminating the streetscape, which had quite a few more cars than usual parked on the verges thanks to people visiting for the holiday. “I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that we weren’t physically searched!” Madison Patrick grumbled.  
  
“It’s standard procedure, Mother,” Fran said, “and besides, a retina scanner’s hardly invasive.”  
  
“Did you really think that we’d be able to simply drive onto an ISO base to meet the man in charge of G‑Force, Maddy?” Althea Patrick asked. “Hasn’t there already been an assassination attempt, Fran?”  
  
“You know I can’t talk about that stuff, Mom,” Fran said.  
  
“I wish you’d work some place safer,” Madison Patrick said. “My daughter, a human shield!”  
  
“It’s my choice,” Fran said, her tone suggesting that this was an old argument.  
  
  
  
  
Keyop watched as the sugar melted, bubbled and turned golden. “Neat!” he exclaimed, and turned his attention to the other ramekins. “So…” he said, wielding the torch with care and imagining it might have been a _very_ small version of _Fiery Phoenix_ , “where d’you normally go for Thanksgiving, Al?”  
  
“My family isn’t American, so we never really celebrated Thanksgiving when I was growing up,” Colonel Jones said. “When I was in protective services, I always used to work the holiday so that someone else could have the day off.”  
  
“Don’t you want to spend time with your family?” Keyop wondered.  
  
“Of course, but my family all live on Planet Vega, and my nephew’s an interceptor pilot with the Patrol. We catch up when we can.”  
  
“You don’t miss ‘em?”  
  
“Of course, but there’s the tele-comm and I can always go to Vega for a vacation if I want.”  
  
One the _crème_ had been _bruléed_ (apparently that was French food-talk for melting the sugar), Anderson came to fetch Colonel Jones and Keyop, who were ushered into the living room where Grandma Sorcha was waiting, ensconced in an armchair like a queen holding court. Princess was sitting in the other armchair with her hands clasped in her lap.  
  
“You know,” Grandma Sorcha was saying to Princess, “while that dress could be considered a little old for you, it’s definitely your colour. It’s certainly an improvement on those dreadful striped jeans and that ghastly numbered t‑shirt that I usually see you in.”  
  
Princess blushed and smiled. “Oh. Thank you, Grandma Sorcha… I think?”  
  
“It was a compliment,” Grandma Sorcha said wryly. “And the hairstyle’s an improvement, too. You should take more care with your appearance more often.”  
  
“Lecturing already, Gran?” Anderson asked as he steered Keyop and Colonel Jones to the sofa. The three of them sat down with Keyop caught between the two adults.  
  
“Nonsense, David,” Grandma Sorcha said, lifting her chin. “I was merely paying a compliment.”  
  
“Of course you were,” Anderson said. “Gran, this is Lieutenant Colonel Jones.” For a moment, Keyop considered slipping out of his seat and making a run for it, but when he glanced over at Princess, she was looking at him as though she knew exactly what was going through his mind. He let out a very small sigh while Grandma Sorcha spoke to Colonel Jones.  
  
“Oh, yes,” Grandma Sorcha was saying. “We met at that charity performance of _Madame Butterfly_ , didn’t we? I think I ought to tell you from the start that I refuse to call you, ‘Al.’ I think it’s an appalling nickname for a woman. It makes you sound as though you’ve got a crew cut and wear combat boots! I’m going to call you Alberta.”  
  
“That’s quite all right, Mrs Anderson,” Colonel Jones said. “Although I must confess that I have been known to wear combat boots from time to time. In combat.”  
  
“I think you can call me Sorcha. Most people do.” Grandma Sorcha gave Jones a calculating look. “So, you’re a Galaxy Security officer and you kill people.”  
  
Colonel Jones actually smiled at that. “Only if they’re trying to kill me or my protection assignment first. Fair’s fair. I don’t do assassination. We have a separate department for that but if you tell anyone I said so, I’ll deny it.”  
  
“Droll sense of humour, too, I see,” Grandma Sorcha said wryly. “So, are you sleeping with my grandson?”  
  
Keyop heard Princess gasp, but Colonel Jones didn’t bat an eyelid. “No, Sorcha,” she said blithely. “I sustained a gunshot injury to the lower torso while we were on Planet Albion, but once my medical clearance comes through I expect we’ll be at it like rabbits.”  
  
Princess uttered a squeak of surprise and she clapped a hand to her mouth. Keyop glanced around at the adults in the room. Grandma Sorcha was staring at Colonel Jones who was staring back with one eyebrow slightly arched as though waiting for an opponent’s next move. Princess looked from Grandma Sorcha to Colonel Jones, then at Anderson, who was simply looking stunned and appalled in equal measure. Keyop frowned. Had he missed some grown-up thing? Adults were so complicated!  
  
Grandma Sorcha chuckled. “Well, I deserved that, didn’t I?” she said. She caught her grandson’s horrified gaze. “I like her, David. She won’t stand for any nonsense.”  
  
Anderson looked from Grandma Sorcha to Colonel Jones and back again. “Should I just go and find some body bags now to avoid the rush?”  
  
“Don’t be silly,” Colonel Jones said. “Your grandmother is refreshingly direct. Besides, you made me promise not to shoot her.”  
  
“We didn’t cover stabbing,” Anderson recalled. “I’ve seen you with edged weapons, and I’ve given you access to a kitchen full of knives!”  
  
Tiny stuck his head around the doorway. “The guard post called,” he announced. “They’ll be here any minute!”  
  
Princess stood up moved toward the door. “We’d better check on the food,” she declared. “Come on, Al.” Colonel Jones got up and Princess almost dragged her from the room in her haste to escape.  
  
Keyop made to follow but Anderson and Grandma Sorcha were both looking at him. He tried to think of an excuse to leave.  
  
“Your speech therapy’s coming along well,” Grandma Sorcha said. It wasn’t a question.  
  
“Uh… yes. Yes, it is,” Keyop replied.  
  
“Don’t squirm,” Grandma Sorcha said. “You haven’t got worms, have you?”  
  
“Gran!” Anderson said. “Keyop’s fine. His grades are excellent, and he’s become very articulate since his surgery.”  
  
“Is your class participation improving?” Grandma Sorcha asked, a little more gently this time.  
  
“Yes,” Keyop said. “Now that I can speak properly, the other kids don’t make fun of me so much. Doctor McCall says I’m adjusting well.”  
  
“That’s excellent,” Grandma Sorcha said. “I’m proud of you.”  
  
Keyop blinked. “Really?”  
  
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
“I…” Keyop took a breath and let it out. “Thanks,” he said. A thought occurred to him. “What did Colonel Jones mean just now when she was talking about rabbits?”  
  
To Keyop’s surprise, Director Anderson uttered an inarticulate groan and pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of one hand.  
  
Grandma Sorcha, on the other hand, began to chuckle as though Keyop had said something funny.  
  
After a moment, Anderson recovered himself and gave Keyop a stern look. “Colonel Jones was being facetious,” he said.  
  
Grandma Sorcha was smiling. “She sounded sincere to me,” Grandma Sorcha said.  
  
“We’re _not_ having this discussion right now,” Anderson said. He got up off the sofa and stalked out of the room.  
  
“What did I say?” Keyop wondered aloud.  
  
“It’s all right, dear,” Grandma Sorcha said. “Don’t worry about it, but take my advice and don’t raise the topic during dinner.”  
  
“They’re here!” Princess called and Keyop took the opportunity to make a break for the relative freedom of the hallway.  
  
The front door opened and Jason ushered the Patricks into the entrance hall. Princess was smiling and greeting the guests. “You made good time,” she said. “Hi, Fran. Jason, will you make the introductions?”  
  
“Of course.” Jason took a deep breath and smiled the smile of a young man under pressure. He introduced everybody to polite nods, smiles and greetings, which warmed up a bit when it turned out that Fran’s mother Madison was related to someone Grandma Sorcha knew from her days with the Boston Galactic Opera Company, then somehow Keyop got put in charge of incoming coats.  
  
There was a brief moment of sartorial activity, at the end of which Keyop found himself left unceremoniously at the bottom of a pile of coats while the grown-ups made their way to the living room.  
  
  
  
  
Keyop took his time hanging up the coats in the hall closet. There were only three of them, but if he was meticulous, he could have a few minutes to himself. Fran’s mothers didn’t look scary to Keyop, but Jason seemed unaccountably nervous. Grown-ups! Jason practically _was_ a grown-up, especially now he had a girlfriend. Keyop shook his head and shut the door of the hall closet. It was time to go back to the party and sample the _hors d’oeuvre_ s.  
  
By the time Keyop slunk into the living room, drinks had been distributed – including options for those not partaking of alcohol. Keyop helped himself to a glass of soft apple cider – sweet and fruity with just a little bit of fizz. Anderson was being urbane and polite (he’d clearly decided to treat Fran’s parents as though they were diplomats or something, Keyop decided) and Princess... Princess was poised, confident and… g _rown-up_ , Keyop decided. Grandma Sorcha, as befitted her status as family matriarch and retired _diva_ , was holding court in the centre of the room with Madison Patrick as her chief worshipper.  
  
Tiny pressed a platter into Keyop’s hands. It contained crackers and some kind of brown gunk in a bowl.   
  
Keyop wrinkled his nose. “What’s this?” he asked.  
  
“It’s _pâté_ ,” Tiny said.  
  
Keyop sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “It smells like liver.”  
  
“That’s pretty much what it is,” Tiny said. “Pass it around.”  
  
Jason was standing next to Fran and Althea, who was chatting with Jones. Keyop proffered his chopped liver and crackers, and in response, the grown-ups smiled indulgently, thanked him and helped themselves to the brown gunk, which they put on the crackers using one of the little not-quite-a-knife thingies that Keyop had cleaned and polished earlier that afternoon.  
  
“You should be proud,” Jones was saying. “Your daughter has the makings of a fine officer.”  
  
Althea Patrick beamed at Fran before turning her attention back to Jones. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Colonel,” she said.  
  
“Should I be concerned?” Jones quipped.  
  
“Not at all,” Althea Patrick said. “Do they really call you Mother Superior?”  
  
“Mom!” Fran gasped, appalled.  
  
“Only when my back’s turned,” Jones said, arching an eyebrow at Fran.   
  
“You must have a sense of humour,” Althea said.  
  
“It’s indispensable in my line of work,” Jones said. “Interplanetary politics are largely a cosmic joke. If you don’t laugh, you go barking mad.”  
  
Keyop glanced up at Jason, who looked as though he wished he was anywhere else but here. Growing up clearly wasn’t all that great.  
  
Keyop headed toward Mark with his plate of crackers and liver paste. What would it be like, he wondered, to suddenly find that you really were part of an actual family? He supposed he’d never really know.  



	4. Fit the Fourth

## FIT THE FOURTH

 _In which dinner is served.  
_  
When dinner was announced, Keyop gallantly steered Madison Patrick to her seat and held her chair for her while Tiny seated Althea. Anderson was seeing Jones to her chair while Mark attended to Sorcha. Jason looked ready to flee to the kitchen end of the table as soon as he’d seen Fran seated but was herded in the opposite direction by Mark and couldn’t dodge without seeming to be rude. With nowhere to hide, Jason attempted a death glare in Mark’s direction, but Mark had walked away and was studiously ignoring his second while ensuring Princess was seated. Jason cast a hopeful look toward the seat next to Princess, which would have put him well away from Fran’s parents, but Keyop made a dash for it and got there first.  
  
Jason appeared to admit defeat and sat down next to Fran. Keyop grinned to himself, then sobered when Princess nudged at his foot with the toe of her shoe.  
  
“What? He hissed. “I’m not doing anything!”  
  
“Keep it that way,” Princess warned.  
  
The table could seat twelve, but the chairs had been arranged so that there were eleven places set with elbow room on one side. Princess was at the end closest to the kitchen with Colonel Jones to her left so that the two of them could oversee things. Keyop was at Princess’ right (within easy kicking distance, should the need arise) with Tiny in between him and Grandma Sorcha who sat next to Fran and Jason, while on the other side of the table Madison sat at Anderson’s right next to Althea while Mark occupied the next chair beside Jones.  
  
“Wow,” Mark said, staring at the array of dishes on the table. “This looks amazing.”  
  
“It does,” Anderson said. “Gran, would you like to say Grace?”  
  
“Thank you, David, I would,” Sorcha said. She held her hands out to Tiny and Jason, who took them and followed suit. When everyone around the table had joined hands, Sorcha said, “Bless us, Lord, and these gifts of your bounty which we are about to receive. Let us be thankful for family, friends and hopefully an end to this bloody stupid, pointless damned war. Amen.”  
  
“Amen,” everyone echoed, and let go of their neighbours’ hands.  
  
“I think,” Sorcha said, “that this year I’m thankful for all of my family, both by blood and by adoption. You’ve all made me proud, even David, and that’s saying something.”  
  
Sorcha gave Jason a pointed look, so he took a breath and said, “I’m also thankful for family. I never gave my old man a lot of thought since he ran out on us and all, but I should be thankful that he did, because if he’d stuck around, I wouldn’t have you guys to annoy me all the time, and I especially wouldn’t have Fran to be thankful for, either.”  
  
“That’s so sweet!” Fran said, blushing. “I’m thankful for you, too, and your family. I’m especially thankful to Mother and Mom for coming all this way to spend Thanksgiving here with us.”  
  
“This last year,” Anderson said, “it’s been driven home to me that I have a lot to be thankful for, in particular my continued existence and that you kids didn’t give up on me. The chance to be a family is something that not everybody gets. You’ve given me a second chance at that. Thank you.”  
  
Madison smiled and said, “I’m always thankful for Althea and our three beautiful girls, Alex, Fran and Sabrina. I’m thankful for the welcome we’ve received tonight.”  
  
“Likewise,” Althea said with a squeeze of Madison’s hand. “I’m thankful for Madison and the girls, and I’m thankful that Fran seems to have found someone special in Jason.”  
  
Mark looked around the table. “We’ve all lost people we loved,” he said, “but we’ve also found a family in the people around this table. That’s what I’m thankful for.”  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Jones looked a little uncomfortable. “You know I’m really not used to this sort of thing,” she hedged, “but I must say I’m thankful to be alive, and particularly thankful to the people who saved me on Albion. It’s a privilege to be here and I’m grateful to be made welcome.”  
  
“Family’s kind of a recurring theme,” Princess observed. “I’m thankful to Jason for not letting me melt down in the kitchen, and to everyone for pitching in, and Al for all the fresh produce from the garden. I’m especially thankful to Mark for asking how to peel broccoli, because I’m going to be laughing about that for ages.”  
  
A low ripple of amusement spread around the table.  
  
Mark looked blank. “What?” he asked.  
  
“Never mind,” Jason said. “I’ll tell you later.”  
  
“Tell me, too, while you’re at it,” Anderson muttered.  
  
Keyop realised that everyone was watching him and he fidgeted in his seat. Everyone was talking about family. He supposed they expected him to do likewise. “I’m thankful…” he said. “I’m thankful for… for…” _We’ve all lost people we loved,_ Mark had said, but Keyop didn’t even know what that was like. “I guess I don’t know what it’s like to have a real family,” he said, “but I guess I’m lucky that I’ve got all of you.”  
  
“I’m thankful that Zoltar isn’t interrupting Thanksgiving dinner!” Tiny declared. “That way, we get to be a family all together here instead of…” he caught himself as Mark shot a warning look in his direction. “Uh, well, you know… hiding in an air raid shelter or something,” he finished. “I’m also thankful that Princess did a great job preparing the food – with a little help – so let’s get this party started!” He reached for the carving knife. “And to think this is your first attempt at cooking Thanksgiving dinner!”  
  
“Really?” Althea said, raising her eyebrows.  
  
“We’re ISO brats,” Mark pointed out as Tiny began to carve the turkey. “We’ve always eaten Thanksgiving dinner either in mess halls or with the CO at Camp Parker.”  
  
“It’s best that way,” Anderson said. “I have a talent for domestic combustion. The safest way for me to prepare a meal is to stay as far away as possible.”  
  
Mark chuckled and offered Althea the green bean casserole. “The smell of burning toast always takes me right back to my childhood,” he said. “As does the smell of burning soup, burning vegetables, burning cheese, burning meat, burning countertops... It’s no wonder I can’t cook.”  
  
“Well,” Althea said, “it looks like you’ve done an excellent job. My compliments.”  
  
“Thank you, ma’am,” Princess said as dishes were passed around.  
  
“Where did you learn to cook?” Madison asked.  
  
“I haven’t really,” Princess said. “Jill – that’s my landlady – runs a café, so I’ve picked up a few things from her, but I needed help for tonight. Tiny’s a great cook, but his speciality’s seafood barbecues and that isn’t exactly traditional for this time of year.”  
  
“Although,” Tiny said, “remember the time we visited that ISO base in Australia when we were kids? It was almost Christmas, and everybody was planning seafood barbecues for the holidays! That’s a tradition I could really go for.”  
  
“Didn’t you take cooking classes at school?” Madison persisted. “I thought home economics was part of the standard curriculum for everyone.”  
  
“Oh.” Princess smiled nervously. “I skipped home economics. I was on a gifted track with a focus on the physical sciences. I can reverse engineer alien technology, but I can’t darn a sock!”  
  
“I suppose that sets you up well for your traineeship with Galaxy Security,” Madison said.  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” Princess said. “It’s really interesting work.”  
  
“Is it?” Madison said. “Do tell me more.”  
  
“Uh… well… I’m afraid it’s kind of classified,” Princess said.  
  
“I see. I understand Jason is quite talented as well,” Madison said, focusing her attention on her daughter’s boyfriend.  
  
Jason’s smile looked a little forced. “I’m more into forward engineering, myself,” he quipped. “I’m sure Fran’s told you everything.”  
  
“She’s told me you’re in Research and Development and that you like to race cars in your spare time,” Madison said. “She hasn’t been terribly forthcoming with details.”  
  
“Mother, you know–” Fran began, but Jason very gently laid a hand over hers.  
  
“It’s okay, Fran,” Jason said. “It’s only natural that your parents are curious. Galaxy Security Special Projects develops systems and equipment used in the field. That equipment has to be tested, adapted, fine-tuned, upgraded and assessed on an on-going basis. Let’s just say that I can tell you a lot more about the racing, and that the racing is safer than my day job, especially when Doctor Kew gets one of his ideas.”  
  
Madison attempted a laugh. “It seems our topics for conversation are subject to an awful lot of secrecy!”  
  
“I did warn you, Mother,” Fran said.   
  
Keyop sniggered into his potatoes. “Jason’s an Intergalactic Man of Mystery!”  
  
“And my superpower is infinite patience,” Jason said, directing a warning look at Keyop.  
  
“I thought infinite patience was _my_ superpower,” Anderson put in.  
  
“The torch passes,” Jason retorted.  
  
“So,” Princess couldn’t help asking, as she loaded Keyop’s plate with vegetables, “if your superpower is infinite patience, Jason, what’s mine?”  
  
“Ah.” Jason thought a moment, then recovered his aplomb. “Kindness. Kindness beyond words.”  
  
“Nice save, Jase,” Princess said, smiling.  
  
Keyop stared at his plate. He’d been given a slice of turkey, but his plate was full of veggies! He sniffed. The baked root vegetables were redolent of garlic and herbs, but the beans… there were just so many of them. He could count at least three! They were all so green and… _healthy-looking_. He reached for the gravy boat and applied the contents in the hope of making the vegetables somewhat less… vegetable-y, then curiosity won out and he tasted the pumpkin. “Hey,” he blurted. “This isn’t bad!”  
  
“You don’t have to sound _quite_ so surprised,” Princess reproved.  
  
“How come vegetables don’t always taste this good?” Keyop demanded.  
  
“Well,” Princess reasoned, “maybe if I had a little more help in the kitchen now and then…”  
  
“Uh…” Keyop thought fast. “Can’t talk! Eating.” He applied himself to his food.  
  
Meanwhile, Madison Patrick was trying to find out more about the young man who dared to stake a claim to her daughter. “What can you tell us about your parents, Jason?” she asked.  
  
Princess nearly dropped her fork, but it seemed that Jason was not to be fazed. “I get the feeling, Mrs Patrick, that you’ve probably read all about my adoptive father in _Who’s Who_. My birth parents were both Galaxy Security operatives. It seems that working for Big Brother runs in the family.”  
  
Keyop watched as Princess went pale. “She’s going to ask about his father, isn’t she?” Princess breathed, her words barely audible.  
  
“Wouldn’t you, if your daughter were dating Jason and getting serious about him?” Colonel Jones pointed out softly.  
  
“Is there a fire extinguisher anywhere?” Princess whispered.  
  
“Mom was good at what she did,” Jason was saying. “So good, that she managed to annoy some people to the extent that we had to leave Hibernia in a hurry.”  
  
“Erin’s work,” Anderson said, “resulted in the capture of several major organised crime figures on Hibernia. The syndicates were crippled and to this day, they haven’t recovered. She was one of our best.”  
  
Madison looked uncomfortable yet fascinated with the story. “So...” she began.  
  
“When I was seven, Mom had to have some major dental work done,” Jason said. “She hated dentists, so she asked to have the work done under an anaesthetic. Turns out she was allergic, only nobody knew until she coded. She went in to have her teeth fixed and she died.”  
  
“For a while,” Anderson said, “I was convinced that there was foul play. For months I had people investigating. We ran test after test, looking for someone to blame, but it turns out it was just one of those crazy, stupid, tragic one-in-a-million accidents.”  
  
Althea Patrick had been watching Anderson’s face as he spoke. “Were you... close?”  
  
“Yes. Erin was like a sister to me. She’d named me as Jason’s guardian, so he was stuck with me.”  
  
“It wasn’t that bad moving in with us, was it, Jason?” Mark joked. “Jason and I were already friends when Aunt Erin passed away,” he explained.  
  
“Yeah,” Jason said. “We lived in the same ISO apartment block, went to the same school and I already spent most of my time hanging out with Mark, so it wasn’t like I was dropped into an unfamiliar environment.”  
  
“It must have been awful, losing both parents so young,” Madison sympathised.  
  
“It was hard losing Mom,” Jason said. “I never knew my father.”  
  
Madison Patrick looked back and forth between Anderson and Jason. “I can’t help but notice the resemblance,” she said.  
  
Jason’s expression went blank. “Excuse me?”  
  
“Between the two of you,” she said, looking back and forth between Anderson and Jason.  
  
“Mother!” Fran was blushing furiously.  
  
“We don’t look anything alike,” Jason insisted.  
  
“But you do,” Madison said. “You have the same bone structure –”  
  
Anderson drew breath to say something, but Jason got there first.  
  
“It’s okay,” he said. “Director Anderson is my uncle. Personally, I don’t see a resemblance, but I guess there must be one. My dad was his older brother. Died on a mission while Mom was expecting me.”  
  
“Oh, I see,” Madison said. “I’m sorry if I brought up painful memories. Francine, you should have said something earlier!”  
  
“It isn’t my story to tell,” Fran said.  
  
Grandma Sorcha was Jason’s unlikely rescuer. “It was a long time ago,” she said, “and whilst it’s customary to avoid speaking ill of the dead, James was always a risk-taker. I was devastated when I got the news of his death, but to be perfectly honest, it came as no surprise. David and the children are my last remaining family. I always swore I’d never become one of those meddling old women who try to pressure people into settling down but I’m starting to think that David in particular is leaving me with no other choice!”  
  
“It isn’t as though I’ve had a lot of spare time over the last few years, Gran,” Anderson pointed out, his tone mild. “And having twenty-four seven security surveillance isn’t exactly conducive to romance. Let’s face it: how many other people do you know who can produce actual evidence to prove that they haven’t had the time to get a life?”  
  
Keyop had finished his turkey and mustered his courage to try the green bean casserole. It wasn’t as good as the potatoes, but he decided it could have been a lot worse. For beans, anyway. He chewed and swallowed. Actually, if he tried not to think about the fact that he was eating beans, it wasn’t so bad.  
  
“Don’t complain to me,” Grandma Sorcha was saying. “I told you not to join Galaxy Security in the first place! It was James who talked him into it, you know, all those years ago. I was furious. Jay and I had a blazing argument and didn’t talk to each other for two years!”  
  
“No disrespect, Grandma Sorcha,” Mark said, “but Dad must be doing something right since Zoltar hates him so much. I’ve heard,” Mark confided to the table at large, “that Zoltar foams at the mouth almost as much at the mention of Dad’s name as he does whenever anyone talks about G-Force!”  
  
“Is that going to change?” Althea asked. “Now that you aren’t the Chief of Galaxy Security any more?”  
  
“It remains to be seen,” Anderson said. “I intend to remain a thorn in Spectra’s side for the foreseeable future, and now Doctor Galbraith can be another thorn. I suspect, however, that Francine will be in less danger on Doctor Galbraith’s security detail than she was when I was in the big chair.”  
  
Fran cast her gaze heavenward. “Even when you were our Chief of Staff, sir, I missed all the fun!”  
  
“This must be some new definition of ‘fun’ that I haven’t heard of yet,” Anderson said.  
  
At the other end of the table, Colonel Jones raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  
  
Jason hastily reached for his napkin and attempted to stifle a snigger.  
  
“Is there some kind of private joke here?” Sorcha asked.  
  
“Colonel Jones,” Anderson recounted, “has previously expressed an opinion that I’m… less cautious than she’d like me to be when it comes to certain operational considerations. I believe the term she most recently used was ‘bloody idiot.’”  
  
Jones drew herself up. “That comment was in reference to you running _in_ to danger with nothing more than a sidearm and a bad attitude against a giant dragonfly that was laying waste to the carpark at Seahorse Base! If that isn’t being a bloody idiot, I’m not sure what is.”  
  
“I seem to recall saving your life at the time,” Anderson said.  
  
“ _G-4_ saved my life,” Jones corrected. “You were just there to be annoying. You didn’t save my life until the Rigan Embassy fiasco, and then Planet Albion.”  
  
“This from the woman who tased herself on the front steps of my house,” Anderson parried.  
  
“ _Technically_ , I tased an enemy agent,” Jones said.  
  
“She had a knife to your throat!”  
  
“Not once I tased her she didn’t!”  
  
“See, Mother?” Fran said to Madison. “My life is boring compared to some people’s! I didn’t even get to fight the giant robot spider!”  
  
“Fran,” Princess said, “we do _not_ talk about the giant robot spider. _Ever_.”  
  
“Oh, my,” Madison said, going pale and fanning herself with her napkin.  
  
“I suppose you get asked this all the time,” Althea said in an attempt at changing the subject, “but how’s the war really going?”  
  
Anderson took a sip of wine before speaking. “If you listen to some people, we’re throwing away resources on an unnecessary campaign of violence and oppression against the people of a dying planet. If you listen to others, we’re not doing enough to crush an evil empire whose expansionist ambition threatens the entire galaxy.”  
  
“In other words,” Althea said with a rueful smile, “you can’t say.”  
  
“I’m afraid not,” Anderson said.  
  
“I suppose we could safely talk about the weather,” Madison said, “or we could compliment Princess on a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner.”  
  
“It was a team effort,” Princess said.  
  
“Are you sure we can talk about the weather?” Keyop asked. “The Van Allen Belt stuff was classified!”  
  
“I suspect a lot of people noticed it when it happened,” Sorcha said. “I certainly did.”  
  
It was Tiny who decided that Princess had done enough for the evening and chivvied Keyop into helping him clear all the plates and serve the dessert once the main course was finished with. “You’ve done the lion’s share of the work tonight,” he said. “The dessert’s straightforward enough that I’m not going to mess it up, so you can sit back and rest on your laurels. You’ve earned it. And later, Mark’s going to help with the coffee.”  
  
“Thanks, Tiny.” Princess smiled and relaxed.  



	5. Fit the Fifth

## FIT THE FIFTH

In which the clearing-up is done and Keyop finds something to be thankful for after all.  


By the time the coffee things were being cleared away by Mark and Tiny, Princess seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself. Fran’s moms looked happy and relaxed, and were casting fond and approving smiles at their daughter and Jason. Grandma Sorcha was being… well, she was being Grandma Sorcha and no doubt she’d have plenty to say to everyone before she went home to Boston but overall as far as Keyop could tell, the evening looked as though it might have been a success.  
  
Jason escorted Madison, Althea and Fran outside to the car to drive them back to the hotel. The front door closed and Princess let out a sigh of relief.  
  
“You okay?” Keyop asked  
  
“Yeah,” Princess said.  
  
“Well done, you,” Colonel Jones said quietly, having walked up to stand behind Princess’ left shoulder.  
  
“I second that,” Sorcha said. “Your first Thanksgiving dinner party was a great success.”  
  
Princess frowned, suddenly worried. “I’m not reinforcing gender stereotypes, am I?” Princess asked.  
  
“Depends on the context,” Colonel Jones said. “Did everyone expect you to suddenly become a domestic goddess or did you volunteer?”  
  
“Well…” Princess said, “I did kind of insist.”  
  
“In which case,” Jones said, “you probably just demonstrated that you can expand your skill-set at short notice. I mean, you haven’t lost the ability or the inclination to put your accelerated reverse-engineering abilities to use, have you?”  
  
“Accelerated reverse-engineering?” Keyop echoed. “Is that a thing now?”  
  
‘You know what I mean,” Colonel Jones said.  
  
“It’s all right,” Sorcha said with a resigned sigh. “I know perfectly well that ‘accelerated reverse-engineering’ means blowing up Spectra bases and ships. I’m not blind.”  
  
“Can’t be too careful,” Jones said with a shrug.  
  
“Anyway,” Sorcha said, “as long as you don’t allow the boys to develop an expectation that you’ll turn into some kind of Stepford Sister, you should be fine. Letting them do the dishes while we girls have a drink is a good start. Princess, you’re legal. What’ll you have?”  
  
“What are you having?” Princess asked.  
  
“I happen to know David keeps some very good whiskies,” Sorcha said.  
  
“Um… I’ve never tried whisky,” Princess said.  
  
“Well then,” Sorcha said. “Time to round out your education a little.”  
  
This was _definitely_ grown-up stuff. Keyop fled to the safety of the kitchen.  
  
  
  
  
The dishwasher was full and even so, there were still more dishes that needed to be washed in the sink. Mark had run the hot water and was applying himself to the washing-up while Tiny dried and put Keyop to work tending a saucepan of milk heating on the stove-top while Anderson put the clean, dry dishes away.  
  
“Um, I have a question,” Keyop ventured.  
  
“Shoot,” Mark said.  
  
“You know how your father was supposed to be dead and then he turned out to be Colonel Cronus?”  
  
“I doubt I’ll forget it in a hurry,” Mark replied.  
  
“And then Jason’s dad was supposed to be dead and then he turned out to be Captain Doom?”  
  
Anderson uttered a brief snort. “Also something that won’t be forgotten any time soon!”  
  
“I don’t have any parents lurking in the wings, do I?” Keyop asked. “I mean, I’m not going to corner some bad guy one day and have him go all Darth Vader on my ass, am I?”  
  
“Keyop,” Anderson said, “you were grown from a single cell in the genetics lab. I watched you go from an embryo to a full-term infant. So did Director Halloran and the rest of the genetics team along with the cerebonic team.”  
  
“Yeah,” Keyop said, “but someone must have donated that cell.”  
  
“It was a surplus ovum from a fertility programme,” Anderson said. “It came from an anonymous donor, and we removed all the genetic material. It was a blank slate.”  
  
“So where’d my DNA come from?” Keyop asked.  
  
“It was a mix. Some of it was donated and some of it was synthesised. Doctor Diaz – she’s retired now – was the one who sequenced it. I suppose I could contact her and see if she’d like to meet with you if you want.”  
  
Keyop straightened up. “Really?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“I’ll think about it,” Keyop said. “Huh. So I really don’t have actual… parents.”  
  
“Not in the traditional sense,” Anderson said.  
  
Keyop took a breath and let it out again. “Am I even human?” he blurted. His breath caught in his throat and he blinked back tears. “Everyone else has family – parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters! Even if they’re gone now, they still had ‘em to start with! Zark says I was _manufactured_ in a laboratory. I was a _science experiment!_ ”  
  
To Keyop’s surprise, it was Anderson who walked over to him, bent down and pulled him in for a hug.  
  
“Of course you’re human,” Anderson said. He drew back so he could meet Keyop’s gaze. “If anything, you’ve got more proof than any of us that you’re human. The genetics team sequenced your DNA down to the last molecule. Just because the process that made you was different, it doesn’t make _you_ any less human. You weren’t an accident of birth. Nothing was left to chance. Maybe that makes you different, but it also makes you _special_. Never doubt it.”  
  
“Keyop,” Tiny said, “think about it for a sec’. You were made because a whole lotta people specifically wanted to create _you_. You might not have a biological mom or dad, but you’ve got a family. Mark’s old man faked his death and left his family here on Earth. Jason’s father ran off and became a space pirate. My folks went out on a boat in bad weather when they should’a known better and they never came back. Nobody’s _ever_ walked away from you, and we never will.”  
  
A genuine smile blossomed on Keyop’s face. He sniffled and dashed away a tear. “I never thought of it that way before.”  
  
  
  
  
While Tiny took over on hot chocolate duty, Keyop made his way back into the dining room to find Princess, Sorcha and Jones, who were seated at one end of the dining table with a bottle of Jameson’s Special Reserve and three glasses.   
  
“You know,” Princess was saying with a grimace. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a whiskey drinker. I think I prefer margaritas or mojitos.”  
  
Sorcha shrugged, and Jones finished her drink.  
  
“Nothing wrong with that,” Sorcha said. “You’ve tried it and now you know. All the more for us.”  
  
Tiny and Mark emerged from the kitchen with mugs on a tray, followed by Anderson.  
  
Anderson looked at the whiskey bottle and the glasses. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Al, are you drinking alcohol? You know what Kate said!”  
  
“This is us not killing each other,” Jones pointed out. “Count your blessings and be thankful.”  
  
Anderson took the seat next to Grandma Sorcha without further comment while Tiny distributed mugs of hot chocolate.  
  
  
  
  
Jason parked the BMW in the garage and walked up to the front door of Anderson’s house. He let himself in and found the rest of his extended family in the dining room. It looked as though they were waiting for him.  
  
“What’s this, an intervention?” he quipped as Tiny put a mug into his hands.  
  
“How did it go?” Princess asked. “Do they think we’re normal?”  
  
“I think you might have fooled ‘em,” Jason said. “In any event they didn’t go ballistic where I could hear them, and Madison’s a total fangirl for Grandma Sorcha.”  
  
Sorcha sipped at the hot chocolate she’d been given then held the cup out. “Would somebody please put some whiskey in this?”  
  
Anderson reached for the Jameson’s and complied with Sorcha’s request.  
  
“Now, I’m taking you all out for lunch tomorrow at _Café Prétentieux_ ,” Sorcha declared. “My plane leaves at five so we’ll have some family time before I fly out. Jason, if you’d like to bring Francine, please invite her.”  
  
“Wait,” Jason said, “you’re not going to lecture us?”  
  
“Would you like me to?” Sorcha offered.  
  
“There’s no correct answer to that is there?” Jason said.  
  
“Probably not,” Sorcha said. “You’re learning, young man. Jason, I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I’m so very pleased that you’ve accepted who you are. I know James behaved abominably and if he were still alive I’d kick his sorry behind half-way to Andromeda, but I hope you’ll come to find that being an Anderson by blood isn’t all that bad. If you’d like to come by a little early tomorrow, I could tell you what your father was like in the days when he was still a decent human being.”  
  
“I think… maybe I’d like that,” Jason said. “I guess he couldn’t always have been a jerk.”  
  
“I think it’s time we cleared up and said good night,” Princess declared. “Tiny, can Keyop and I catch a ride back with you?”  
  
Tiny started gathering up cups. “Sure. There’s room in the van for your bike.”  
  
  
  
  
Tiny and Keyop carried the cups to the kitchen. Jason washed the cups at the sink and Princess wiped the countertop down while the dishwasher hummed away under the bench.  
  
“Princess?” Jason ventured.  
  
“Yeah?” Princess rinsed the dishcloth at the sink and hung it up over the tap.  
  
Jason dried his hands and gave his foster-sister a hug. “Thanks for everything. You made us seem like a family tonight.”  
  
Princess hugged back. “Jase, we _are_ a family,” she said. “A weird family, but a family.”  
  
“I guess you’re right,” Jason said. “Thanks for being the most awesome sister ever.”  
  
“Can I get that in writing?” Princess teased.  
  
“Any time,” Jason said. “I’ll even sign it with my own signature.”  
  
Princess laughed. “Dork,” she told him.  
  
“You do realise,” Jason said, “that you’re one of only three people in all existence who can get away with calling me that?”  
  
“Who are the other two?” Princess asked, drawing away. “Fran’s one, but who else?”  
  
“Mark of course,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, Grandma Sorcha could probably get away with it too, but somehow I can’t see her using the word, ‘dork.’”  
  
“Well, I’ll try not to abuse the privilege,” Princess said.  
  
“Come on, Galaxy’s Most Awesome Sister,” Jason said. “It’s time we all went home.”  
  
Keyop followed Princess out of the kitchen. “I guess you’re right, Princess,” he said. “We _are_ a family, after all, and I really am thankful for it.”  


 

 

 

 

 

 _fin_  



End file.
